


some absolute end

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Winteriron Bingo 2019 [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky is found earlier, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse, Ty is not a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Tony is 21 when he meets Bucky Barnes in the flesh for the first time.He’s taller than Tony thought he would be, than Tony imagined he would be from the comics, but he’s shyer as well, with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring down at his feet, entire body curled inward, as if protecting himself from a blow that would always come.Tony’s stomach twists at that.“Tony Stark,” he introduces, thrusting out a hand.Bucky is alarmed, blinking wide. The way he gazes at him reminds Tony of a dark tulip newly blooming, and in a solemn, grave voice, he replies, “Bucky, Bucky Barnes.”Tony rounds on his father. “I’m keeping him. You can leave now.”Written for the "Tony's poor life choices" (K1) square of the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "misunderstanding" (B3) square of the Winteriron Bingo 2019.





	some absolute end

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tony Stark and Winteriron Bingos 2019.
> 
> Warnings: Ty is an abusive dick, be mindful, Tony's self-esteem issues.

Tony is 21 when he meets Bucky Barnes in the flesh for the first time.

He’s taller than Tony thought he would be, than Tony imagined he would be from the comics, but he’s shyer as well, with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring down at his feet, entire body curled inward, as if protecting himself from a blow that would always come.

Tony’s stomach twists at that.

“Tony Stark,” he introduces, thrusting out a hand.

Bucky is alarmed, blinking wide. The way he gazes at him reminds Tony of a dark tulip newly blooming, and in a solemn, grave voice, he replies, “Bucky, Bucky Barnes.”

Tony rounds on his father. “I’m keeping him. You can leave now.”

* * *

“You know I don’t need a bodyguard, right?” Tony says, casually, leaning back against the headboard.

Bucky goes rigid, lips frowning-thin. “Your father and Agent Carter asked me to-” he says, haltingly.

“I’m not questioning them,” Tony says, quickly, seeing the panicked look shadowing Bucky’s eyes, something twisting in his stomach. “Actually, I am questioning my father. I always question my father because, new headline, he’s a dick. Look, Aunt Peggy always has a good head on her shoulders. But I’ve lived here at MIT for seven years with no problem at all. If anything was going to happen, wouldn’t it have happened ages ago?”

Bucky threads his fingers together, placing them in his lap. “Threats can come from anywhere,” he says, solemnly. “And I’m grateful for everything Agent Carter’s done for me. Protecting you, that’s not a big inconvenience for me.”

The lines of Tony’s face soften.

“You’re sweet,” he says, fondly. “But I really don’t need a bodyguard.”

Bucky flinches. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks, unhappily.

“No,” Tony says, quickly. “But I’d rather you stay as my friend, not as someone indebted to me.”

_You are the most interesting person I have ever met._

Bucky hesitates for an agonising moment, giving him a faint smile. “Okay,” he murmurs. “If you’d like.”

* * *

Tony drags Bucky out to the best cheeseburger joint in Cambridge, a hole-in-the-wall diner that served giant root beer floats and equally giant burgers for a pittance and had the kindest, silver-haired waitress Tony had ever met.

Tony gets him the old-fashioned salty-seared meat with lettuce and pickles and American and caramelised onions, with a healthy dollop of melted cheese.

“Try it,” Tony urges when the waitress lays two plates on the table in front of them.

Tony notices Bucky’s hand in detail, the broad palm, the long, thin fingers, strong and clean, and he feels that twist of heat, arousal, low in his belly. He’s immediately shamefaced, blushing hotly, because he doesn’t know what Bucky went through, all those years between falling from a train in the Alps in 1945 and shows up, hale and hearty and fucking beautiful, in 1991, without having aged a day, but he knows it was bad, if only at the way his new bodyguard-friend is meek as a mouse but his pale eyes miss nothing at all.

Bucky leans down and takes a bite. Suddenly, his eyes widen, going big and round as the moon.

“I like this,” he says, voice hushed.

Tony grins then, all teeth and warm. “I know, right? Come on, keep eating.”

Bucky sighs and reaches for the burger. He demolishes it quite quickly, actually, and leans back, lips frowning-thin.

“I want more,” he says, all-but pouting.

Tony raises his hands, waggling his eyebrows. “The perks of being bodyguard to a billionaire. All the cheeseburgers you want.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile, and his heart swells.

* * *

“So, Rhodey, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Rhodey.”

Rhodey’s eyes are boggled. “Holy shit, this is… Tony, he’s fucking James Barnes,” he hisses, conspiratorially, like Tony hadn’t quite figured it out.

Tony laughs, bright and proud. “Yeah, I realised.” He hugs Bucky’s arm to his side, leans in to the way Bucky only has eyes for her. “Doesn’t much look like his comics, I know, but I like this version better.”

Bucky preens a little, and after a moment’s reflection, he takes Rhodey’s extended hand, and Tony breathes a sigh of relief (because Rhodey is awesome and everyone should think Rhodey is as awesome as he does).

“You are James Rupert Rhodes, born October 6, 1968, in Northern Liberties, Philadelphia. Your parents are Terrance and Roberta Rhodes, and you have one sister, Jeanette. You currently study aeronautical engineering on a scholarship offered by the Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps. Your GPA is a 3.9, you have a history of lactose-intolerance and allergies to particular laundry detergents, you have a spiral birthmark on your lower back, and you have a slight addiction to the soft drink, Tab. You also have a propensity for sinus headaches. It is not the most optimal medical condition for a protector, but I believe you will not be rendered malfunctional.”

“Okay,” Rhodey says, slowly. “That’s creepy.”

Bucky flushes, ducking his head.

Tony pats him on the arm. “It’s okay, he’s just protective. He’s not some creepy Norman Bates-esque stalker, I promise.”

Rhodey sighs. “Well, this guy can’t go out of a bar without pissing someone off, so I’d say he needs you like nothing else.”

“Hey!” Tony protests.

Bucky nods, solemnly. “Yes, I agree.”

Tony huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m dumping both of you, I swear,” he threatens and swells up like an apoplectic frog when Bucky decides to pat him on the head instead.

There’s a knock on the door.

Rhodey’s face quickly dims. “Joy,” he says, dryly. “It’s the King of the Ghouls.”

Tony shoots him a baleful look. “Be nice,” he says, sternly. He squeezes Bucky’s hand. “It’s just Ty. I told you about him.”

Bucky nods. “Tiberius Stone, son of Tyler and Brianna Stone, CEO of Viastone.” He hesitates. “Your lover.”

Tony beams at him. “Yeah,” he says, fondly. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, and we started seeing each other when we were like fourteen-fifteen? I’m crazy about him, so I’m hoping you’ll be crazy about him too.”

Bucky gives him a thin, reassuring smile, and Tony flounces off to the door, swinging it open to reveal Ty’s handsome, hard-cut face on the other side, hair the colour of wheat-gold and eyes bluer than a still sea.

“Ty,” Tony sighs, feline and contented, and flings himself into his arms.

Ty holds him close and cups the back of his head. “Hey, Tony,” he says, kindly. “Did you miss me, baby?”

He leans down and kisses him, stealing the air out of his lungs. Tony beams, throwing his arms around Ty’s neck. Ty’s hands slip down from his hips to grope at his arse, making him laugh against his mouth.

“I’ve missed you,” Ty murmurs.

“I missed you too, so much.” Tony pulls away with a little noise. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.”

He tugs on Ty’s hand, bringing him over to where Rhodey and Bucky are still standing. He sees Ty and Rhodey exchange their trademark strained smiles of resigned acceptance (those two will never like each other, which hurts, because he loves Rhodey and Ty so irrevocably, so intrinsically, more than he loves anyone else in this world but for Jarvis and Ana, and all they can do is tolerate each other), but he’s hoping for something better with Bucky.

“Ty, this is Bucky,” he says, grandly. “My new bodyguard.”

Ty sends him a baffled, edged look that Tony doesn’t know how quite to decipher (it reminds him of other times, when Ty gets angry and raging, but he moves on quick enough, Tony just needs to be a little more understanding and he just has to make sure Ty doesn’t get like that now; he won’t, though, Ty’s very good at faking in front of other people).

“You have a bodyguard now?” he demands.

Tony nods. “Dad insisted,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Frankly, I don’t think it’s to protect me, rather to keep an eye on me to make sure I’m not doing anything stupid. What d’you think, Bucky?”

Bucky gives him a half-smile. “I think both are optimal.”

Ty eyes him like a lion would a mouse. “Tiberius Stone,” he says, imperiously, thrusting out a hand.

Tony rolls his eyes behind Ty’s tall back. _God, Ty, I love you, I do, but could you be any more of an obnoxious prick?_

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky replies, thinly, a cold sheen over his eyes.

Ty’s face shows no possible recognition, and Tony vaguely remembers that Ty had never been the Captain America fanboy that he had been, so maybe, he landed the only person who wouldn’t recognise Sergeant James Barnes at first glance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” Ty says, sly and sharp. He reaches behind him to throw an arm around Tony’s shoulders and bring him into his side. “I hope you’ll take good care of my boy, here. He can be a little… misguided with some of his stunts.”

Tony bristles a little, wanting to say something, but likes the feel of Ty’s arm too much around his shoulders to protest.

Bucky lifts his eyebrow. “I have only known Tony to be a very intelligent, thoughtful and discerning person.”

Ty’s eyes gleam. “Oh, so, it’s Tony, is it? Not very professional.” He clucks his tongue.

Tony and Bucky both flush.

“Oh, well, you clearly know a different Tony than I do,” Ty finally says, laughing to himself.

The flush in Tony’s face deepens and darkens.

Bucky’s smile turns strained. “Maybe you do.”

Tony makes a face. “Okay, that’s enough introductions, I think. Come on, Ty, let’s go grab some dinner.”

Ty sighs. “Fine, Tony, God, you’re so pushy.” He belies his words with a quick squeeze to Tony’s hip.

Bucky makes an aborted move, as if to tag along, and Ty straightens.

“Uh, no offence, man, but I just wanted it to be the two of us,” he says, gently, as if Bucky’s a moron.

“Ty,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Bucky’s my bodyguard. A bodyguard can’t exactly selectively choose where he decides to accompany his charge, can he?”

In an instant and only for an instant, Ty gives him a look of such unambiguous loathing that Tony swears his heart stops beating. It quickly smoothens out into a feral smile, and Ty squeezes his hip, so Tony soon forgets about it, that look of bitter, seething hatred.

“I know that,” Ty insists, rolling his eyes. “I was just, you know,” he nuzzles at Tony’s throat. “hoping for some quiet time with you, honey. I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Tony rubs his shoulder. “I know, I know, but you can’t just expect Bucky to forget his job so easily. Come on, let’s go grab a bite to eat, and then, we can take it from there.”

Ty’s answering smile has an edge to it, but Tony easily ignores it for lack of a better option.

* * *

In the end, Tony ends up asking Bucky to stay away once they come back from dinner. Bucky inclines his head and steps away, a gleam in his eyes telling Tony that he knows exactly why he’s being dismissed, and not the _oh, we’re just gonna head to bed for an early night_ excuse he tried to give, all the while blushing.

Bucky takes it in stride, though, and it makes Tony even fonder of him, if that were even possible.

Ty bears Tony down onto the bed, presses a kiss to the jut of his hipbones.

“Did you miss me?” he breathes.

Tony sighs and leans back, content to let Ty take the lead in bed. He threads his fingers through Ty’s golden hair. “Of course, I did.”

“What did you miss the most?” Ty demands, hand wrapping around his cock.

Tony almost vaults off the bed. “Your hands,” he whispers. “Your fingers, your cock. Fuck, I missed all of you, Ty. Fuck me.”

“Good,” Ty growls and surges over him, fisting his own cock until it’s slick with lube.

He presses between Tony’s thighs, after he’s stretched well enough and parts so easily for him, like a ripe peach, and Tony’s mouth opens with a gasp as he’s breached, filled up to the brim.

“Fuck,” Ty groans against the hollow of Tony’s throat. “I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you.”

Tony laughs, breathlessly. “You already said that, baby.”

“Fuck, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good. You’re still so fucking tight, so hot.” Ty gasps, shifting inside him. “And to think, I thought you were screwing your bodyguard.”

Tony stills, goes shock-cold, and suddenly, feels like he’s too naked, too vulnerable, and pulls away.

“What?” he says, flatly.

Ty leans back. “Well, I mean, Tony,” he laughs off. “Come on, the way you were talking to him, the way you were looking at him, you looked like you’d strip off all your clothes, then and there.”

Tony rolls off the bed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Tony, come on, please-”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re actually accusing me of cheating on you,” Tony says, coldly, staring down at him.

Ty sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on, Tony, I mean, is it really so hard to believe?” he asks, thinly. “I mean, you’re here, alone, with Rhodes; I was convinced that you were screwing him at least.”

“And what, you were just being nice by letting me cheat on you?” Tony demands.

Ty shrugs. “So, you are cheating on me, then?”

“No,” Tony growls. “No, I’m not. He’s my friend; they’re both my friends.”

Ty snorts. “Come on, Tony; let’s stop lying to each other, okay.”

“I’m not lying,” Tony grits out.

Ty gapes at him in disbelief. “Bullshit. If you’re not fucking at least one of them, I’ll eat my shoe.”

Tony’s hand clenches and unclenches around air, imagining how it’d feel to wring Ty by the throat. “Fuck off,” he snaps, dragging the blankets around him like a robe.

Ty slowly reddens in rage. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”

“Or what?” Tony laughs like a jagged razor edge. “You’ll hit me? Sorry to spoil your fun, baby, but I’m sober this time. I’m not gonna forget about it so easily, and you can’t just spin some stupid story about me being so fucking clumsy, and _that’s_ how I ended up with those scratches or that shiner or those bruises on my hips.”

Ty pales in rage.

“Yeah,” Tony says, satisfied and mean. “Yeah, I fucking know, you fucking sociopath.”

Ty shakes his head. “God, you’re such a bitch,” he snarls.

“Yeah, I’m the sort of bitch that let you beat on me until you made yourself feel better, you fucking pathetic prick,” Tony snaps.

He storms out of the room, into the little lounge where Bucky and Rhodey sit, watching TV, their eyes darting up when they see him come out, dressed in only a sheet and a sickly-looking flush to their face. In an instant, Bucky’s on his feet and coming towards him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, solemnly.

Tony looks up at him, sees his devastatingly lovely face and deflates. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“I fucking knew it.”

Tony rounds on Ty, who lingers in the doorway, smug and mean.

“I fucking you knew you were fucking him,” Ty says, disgusted. “Did you fucking drop to your knees and suck him off when your dad introduced you two?” he demands. “Or is that how you pay him, letting him use you like some desperate bitch in heat?”

Rhodey steps forward now, face grim. “You’re crossing a line, Stone,” he says, sharply. “You should go.”

“You should fuck off and mind your own business, Rhodes. This has nothing to do with you,” Ty retorts before he gives Tony another glower. “Come on, Tony, fess up. When did you start being this hobo’s cheap little slut?”

“Okay, fine, you know what? Yeah, I am fucking him,” Tony says, viciously, filled with bitter, seething hatred like nothing else (he’d apologised for him, stomached him, loved him through everything and beyond, but no more, no fucking more). “I am fucking him. I was born to take his cock, and it’s so much better than yours; it’s bigger and he lasts longer, and he gets me in all the right spots. He makes me come like a dream. What are you gonna fucking do about that?”

Ty’s answer is to pop him in the face, like he always does, like that time a couple of months ago when they went out drinking and they were stumbling around in the dark and Tony made some dumb, fucking comment about how the guy at the bar wanted to buy him a drink, and Ty lost his fucking mind and his fist made Tony see sun and stars, and then the cold, hard ground when he fell.

This time, though, Ty only tries, because when Tony’s lungs are in his throat, and he braces himself for the blow, but it doesn’t come.

It doesn’t come because Bucky is suddenly occupying the space between him and Ty, and Bucky’s hand is around Ty’s throat and he’s lifting him bodily into the air.

“You,” Bucky says, voice like a growl. “You don’t touch him, not like that, do you understand me?”

Ty’s reply is a strained, gurgling sound, as he flails about in the air, like a dying fish.

“I _said_ , do you understand me?” Bucky asks, coldly.

Finally, Bucky drops him back onto the floor, in a pile of pathetic bones, with a disgusted sound.

He rounds on Tony.

“He won’t hurt you again,” he promises, giving Tony an even look. “But he needs to leave. I will throw him out.”

Tony licks his lips but doesn’t say another word.

Bucky reaches down and heaves Ty up into the air, amidst his pointless struggles. He carries Ty over the threshold of Tony’s little apartment, dumps him on the other side, and closes the door with a slick little sound.

Rhodey turns to Tony. “I like him,” he declares.

Tony likes him too.

* * *

Tony likes Bucky a lot.

He likes it when Bucky deigns to accompany him to every single food adventure he wants to take (Ty used to complain that he was just going to get fat, and then, he wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; oh, Ty never said it straight to his face, but it didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking).

He likes it when Bucky patiently listens to him blathering on about that robot he made, this engine he wants to fix up, that car he’d like to drive but only if they replaced that carburettor.

He likes it when Bucky tucks him into bed when he’s overstayed his welcome in the lab or been up night coding a new AI when he should be sleeping.

He likes it when he gets a chance to work on Bucky’s arm, the solid, metal thing attached to his shoulder that Bucky doesn’t like to talk about. He’d been skittish the first time around, but now he’s a kitten under Tony’s hands.

He likes it when he teaches the Bucky the great old tradition of May the Fourth and Star Wars movies, the way that Bucky’s eyes watch the scenes on the television, the way that Bucky gets obsessed after a while, able to mouth the lines to himself.

He likes it when Tony puts on something smooth and dance-worthy, like the Andrews Sisters, and Bucky spins him around the room like they’re at a dance hall in 1942 (Tony thinks he would’ve liked to be on Bucky’s arm, then, if it wouldn’t have gotten them arrested).

He just really, really likes Bucky.

So, of course, when he plucks up enough courage (he takes a bit of a dip into the wine early) and they’re sitting on the couch together, watching A Nightmare on Elm Street, Tony decides to ease himself into Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s eyes go enormous, big and wide as the moon, and almost reflexively, his broad, deft hands settle on Tony’s lap.

Tony’s eyes drag from his long, dark hair to his pale eyes and pink mouth and the dark of his beard.

“Don’t hate me for this,” he whispers and presses his mouth against Bucky’s.

He makes a breathy sound at the sensation, and slants his mouth firmer against his, gripping Bucky’s broad shoulders. He shuffles a little in Bucky’s lap, hitching himself up against him.

And that’s when Bucky pulls away.

“Tony, no.”

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “If you’re worried about the conflict of interest or the power imbalance, no one’s going to care. _I_ don’t care.”

“That’s not the point,” Bucky protests.

“Don’t worry about my dad.” Tony rolls his eyes, full of scorn. “Howard always has a lot to say, especially where I’m concerned, but I’ve been disobeying him since I was three years old. That’s not going to change anytime soon.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Tony, no,” he says, firmly.

The words are cold and clean and clear, and it’s the equivalent of an ice shower on top of his head.

“You don’t, you don’t want-” Tony swallows, thickly, unable to finish his sentence.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky says, not unkindly.

“Oh,” Tony says, lamely.

The shame, the humiliation stings like a blade, cutting cleanly through skin and bone and flesh. He clambers off Bucky’s lap, curling into a ball in the corner of the couch.

Bucky’s eyes soften, and wow, Tony didn’t think there was anything worse than hate, but pity is worse, pity is definitely worse.

_God, you’re such a fucking moron, Stark. Why would he want you, huh? He’s already seen you as some pampered, gelatinous blue-blood bastard’s punching bag and whore. He knows you’re a fucking train wreck, so why would you ever think he would want you?_

“Tony, it’s not-”

“We don’t need to have a conversation about this,” Tony says, quickly, flashing a strained, sharp smile at him, something warm and solid withering and dying in his chest. “I, uh, tried something out; you weren’t into it, that’s all.”

“Tony, you don’t-”

 _Please don’t make me suffer the indignity of having to hear you tell me that you don’t want me_ , Tony thinks, desperately.

“I’m, uh, I’ve got some coding to do for that new AI. I should, uh, I should probably get back to that,” he says, quickly.

Bucky makes to switch the television off, but Tony shakes his head, vehemently.

“No, no, you keep watching. I’m just, uh, I’m just gonna go.”

With that, Tony runs.

He doesn’t stop running.

* * *

Things are beyond awkward now.

What was so easily, so simple, so effortless between him and Bucky is awful and strained and Tony hates it, hates that he was ever stupid enough to think propositioning his bodyguard because of some childhood fantasy would ever be a good idea.

Bucky avoids him now.

Oh, he doesn’t shirk his responsibilities as a bodyguard in any way, but he does draw a line that Tony can’t or won’t ever cross, as if he’s terrified that Tony will decide to jump him while he’s brushing his teeth or something.

Tony just learns to make do.

Of course, the food adventures, the science talk, the tucking into bed, the arm maintenance, the slow introduction into pop culture, the fucking dancing around the room like a couple of troglodytes.

In hindsight, Tony can’t believe he was such a fucking sap.

He returns to the age-old culture of drinking like a fish and screwing everything with a pulse. He doesn’t bring people back to his apartment; he thought that would be sort of vulgar in a way, especially with Bucky’s dark, heavy eyes watching from all corners; he goes to their place instead, and it’s not at all awkward that Bucky goes with them and waits outside and most likely hears everything that happens in that room.

Bucky doesn’t react at all.

So, Tony drinks.

He’s every college wastoid stereotype and one night, when he gets home, swaying a little and smelling of Polish vodka, Bucky is waiting on his day off, on the couch, reading a book. He looks up when Tony slips between the door and the frame and shuts it behind him, holding onto the knob for dear life before he trips. For a second, Tony lingers there, against the door, dead to the rest of the world, and then, he stops seeing double and turns around, only for his lungs to constrict when he sees Bucky on his feet, shifting awkwardly, hands in his jeans pocket.

“Oh,” he says, lamely.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

“What-what,” Shit, he’s seeing double again. “What are you doing here?” He swallows hard. “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Bucky frowns. “I was hoping to talk to you, if I could.”

“Sure,” Tony says, slipping into that easy, unthinking familiarity he liked having with Bucky, even though he knew it was such a dumb fucking idea. “What did you wanna talk about?” he asks.

He takes a step forward and almost face-plants.

Bucky rushes forward and wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, leading him over to the couch.

Tony’s too drunk to protest.

“So, what’s up?” he slurs.

Bucky stares down at him fondly, which is weird, because Tony was so sure Bucky didn’t even _like_ him, so, why was there fondness, you know?

“I think we’ll talk in the morning, after you’ve slept it off.”

“Slept what off?” Tony asks, frowning.

“You’ll understand in the morning.” Bucky smooths back his hair.

“Okay,” Tony makes a dry, smacking noise. “I’m sorry I kissed you by the way.”

Bucky stills.

“I know you didn’t want it, I know you didn’t want me,” Tony explains, voice strained as he squirms on the couch. “I shouldn’t have forced that on you.”

Bucky reaches out, and his hand smooths back Tony’s hair. “You didn’t force anything on me,” he soothes.

Tony shakes his head. He feels abysmally sad for some reason. “I did, though, I did, and you didn’t like it.”

“Oh, Tony.”

That’s all he knows, and then, he falls asleep.

* * *

The next morning, his head is pounding as he wakes up. He groans and clutches at his head, thumbing his temples. When his vision solidifies and straightens, he sees Bucky waiting in a chair beside his bed, elbows on his thighs, staring down at his feet.

The shame prickles at the back of his neck.

He said way too much shit last night; how is he ever going to look this man in the eye again? As if he’d been able to before.

“You shouldn’t have-” His voice sounds like sandpaper. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

Bucky lifts his eyes; they’re solemn and heavy. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, gently.

Tony shrugs, tipping his head back. “I just had a lot to drink last night. Vodka, you know.”

Bucky’s smile is fleeting. “The Russian stuff is addictive.”

Tony chews on his lip. “I prefer the Polish, you know, my nationalism working its magic. Bison grass vodka.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw together. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried it before.”

Tony swallows, thickly, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. “I’m sure I have it around here somewhere,” he tells him. “I’ll, uh, pour you a glass.” He winces. “Once my head stops raging like a mosh pit.”

“Tony,” Bucky sighs.

Tony closes his eyes. “Please, don’t,” he grits out.

“Tony, I just-”

“I don’t really care? I know I was seriously stupid and pathetic things last night; I’m hoping that you’d be willing to pretend you got attacked by a Men in Black neuralyser and forget everything I said. I was drunk and tired and sad, and I said things that were unprofessional and unfair and I shouldn’t have, I know-”

“Tony, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I understand very well,” Tony snorts.

Bucky ducks his head, staring at his hands in his lap. “I want, no, I _need_ to clear up a misunderstanding,” he says, evenly.

Tony tucks his legs underneath him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bucky, I don’t really-”

“I wanted it,” Bucky blurts out.

Tony’s eyes snap to him, a flummoxed expression taking over his face.

“I wanted the kiss, I wanted you,” Bucky says, biting his lip.

Tony shakes his head before he knows what he’s doing. “No, you didn’t. You stopped me, you pushed me away,” he accuses.

Bucky sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “Tony, Tony, you don’t understand.” He wrings his hands together. “I’m not… I’m not a good person,” he confesses, gritting his teeth.

“What are you talking about?” Tony demands.

Bucky’s smile cuts like a knife. “Do you have any idea what I’ve done? All the horrible things… I’m not… I’m not _good_ for you, Tony. You deserve better.”

“So, you _do_ want me, then?” Tony says, slowly.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s really not the thing you should be focusing on,” he points out, half-fond, half-frustrated.

“You’re not answering the question,” Tony retorts.

“Yes!” Bucky all-but exclaims. “Of course, I do. Tony, how could you think anything else?”

“Well, you pushed me away,” Tony snaps.

Bucky reels back. “I was trying to protect you,” he says, in a small voice.

Tony sighs, dragging back the sheets. He climbs over the edge of the bed and perches in his lap.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns. “You’re my bodyguard, yes, but don’t make decisions for me. I won’t thank you for it.”

One of Bucky’s hand settles on his hip, while the other cups his jaw. “Okay,” he says, quietly.

“So, you do want me?” Tony asks again, shyly.

Bucky squeezes his hip. “Yes, Tony, I want you. I want you. I want you.”

Tony swells with delight, Bucky’s touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Good,” he says, breathlessly.

He kisses him, and this time, Bucky doesn’t push him away.


End file.
